


how not to ask someone out

by orphan_account



Category: Years & Years (Band)
Genre: ???? yes that works, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, soulmate au where what one person writes on their skin also shows up on the others' skin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:52:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6401212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>accidentally. that's how you shouldn't ask someone out. and yet, emre managed to do just that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how not to ask someone out

**Author's Note:**

> this is a soulmate au (as you can see from my very extensive and, honestly, unnecessary tag) and it's inspired by a post that's kind of been floating around tumblr that talks about a soulmate au where what one person writes on their skin appears on the other's skin. enjoy !!

Emre wakes up and immediately checks his arm. It's become a bit of a routine at this point. Wake up, look for markings on arm, lay in bed and contemplate getting up but neglect to do it until about half an hour later.

He smiles as he sees that the underside of his arm has a line of scrawled black ink, and he reaches over to get his glasses from the nightstand so he can attempt to read it. His glasses barely help, though, as the handwriting is like chicken scratch that he always has to put effort into deciphering.

He's been staring at it for a good two minutes when he can start to make out the words _broke my bones playing games with you_ and cracks a bit of a smile. For the most part, it's because he's finally figured out what the messy script meant.

The lyric on his arm is a lot like all the other ones he gets in an emotional sense and those always make his heart hurt for whoever writes them. He always hopes he'll meet this person soon. They're supposed to be his soulmate, anyway, and if they've been writing on Emre's arm since he could read it, they must have a lot to say to him. Emre always feels guilty, too, when he sees the lines, because the person writing on their skin provides Emre with beautiful and poetic words and all he ever gives them in return is _don't forget to buy milk, dumbass_ or things to that effect.

_Broke my bones playing games with you_. Emre tosses the lyric around in his head, sighs, and reaches to the nightstand again–but this time, he grabs a green pen, the one he carries around with him when he needs to write down things he doesn't want to forget. He uncaps it, holding the cap between his teeth, and writes _are_ _you_ _ok_ on his arm. Immediately, there's a sense of regret washing over him, and he caps the pen and licks his thumb to rub off the ink. It comes off after a few tries and he sighs in relief.

He does this pretty often, the whole _hey, let me ask if they're okay_ situation followed by the whole _wait, what the hell am I doing I have to stop right now_ situation. It's a cycle, really, and one that continues every time there's something new on his arm.

He looks back and there's something that wasn't there before, and the feeling that comes next is panic because right next to the space where he'd asked whether the person was okay is the word _yeah_ in black ink. Emre has royally fucked up. He just writes _k_ and hopes this person gets the message and realizes he made a mistake. He's a mess.

===

Olly barely remembers having written the lyric on his arm; he must have been extremely tired when he did it, but he remembers the lyric itself, because it's in his notebook somewhere and he must have thought it'd look nice on his arm for whoever watched it. The person who writes shop lists on their arm and calls themself rude names when they forgot to get milk for the third damn day in a row has always loved–or at least seemed to love–Olly's arm-writing.

And then today, for the first time, Olly sees a direct reply to his lyrics, and when he notices it it's starting to become smudged as though the person who wrote it is trying to remove it. Even after the green ink disappears, Olly picks up his pen and writes the word _yeah_ because he doesn't want the person to worry. They're just song lyrics.

He gets a simple _k_ and it feels like what happens after you text a long paragraph to someone and get a word back. It's not so much heartbreaking, though, as disappointing. This is the first time Olly can remember actually interacting with this person, and they just killed the conversation. Olly is suddenly, for the first time, not excited to meet his soulmate. They must be quite the killjoy.

Olly writes lyrics and sketches around in his notebook while sat at his desk for what seems like an eternity before he glances at his left palm and sees there's something new. It's an address, and, in fact, it's one he recognizes. It's that of a small café that Olly actually visits quite often. Beside the address is a little note that says _be there before 3:30_ and Olly purses his lips as he squints at it. It can't be directed toward him–can it?

Olly knows it isn't, but he's a cocky little bastard and he writes a response anyway, and he decides he'll show up because he's spiteful and has basically no self control.

He puts down his pen, leans back in the seat, and sighs. He can't help the grin that's stretching into his face and he doesn't do much to stop it. Whoever his soulmate is, they're really going to hate each other at first, that's for sure.

===

Shit.

Emre stares at the address on his hand, now with a new marking next to it, one that reads _see you there_ and basically makes Emre feel such a combination of emotions that he's certain he's going to combust. He should've been more clear in what he'd written. He should've put something like _pick up the order_ but he hadn't really thought enough about the fact that someone was watching what he'd been writing to pay much attention to the fact.

He groans and glances at his watch. It's a quarter past three. He's waiting outside the café, because if he's going to accidentally ask someone out he might as well wait for them to arrive.

After what seems like an eternity but may have been just ten minutes, Emre sees a person in particular who stands out to him. This person approaches the café and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a black pen. Emre's heart leaps into his throat. The person writes something on his arm, and Emre instinctively glances at his arm to see there's something new.

_hi_ , it reads.

Emre looks up and sees this person staring at him. Emre almost can't look directly at him, because it feels a but like staring directly at a bright light. Maybe, he tells himself, he doesn't want to try to observe the stars and find himself staring at the sun.

The boy is beautiful beyond words. Emre finds himself tugging at the sleeves of his sweater as he looks him up and down, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself. His heart is still in his throat.

He looks at Emre and cracks the gentlest smile. Emre sees the gaps between his teeth, the sincerity of the smile, and the boy himself as one of the best things that has ever come into his view. He sighs and can't help smiling, too.

===

Olly cannot believe his eyes.

Standing before him is his soulmate, and he looks much different than Olly had pictured–but maybe not in a bad way. For some reason, Olly thinks he looks like a mixture between a Lego figurine and a scene kid. This makes Olly smile, because the simple thought of his soulmate being a Lego-man scene kid is so bizarre and, frankly, hilarious that he can't help it.

They stand there in silence for what feels like forever, staring into each other, looking each other up and down as though trying to examine and remember every inch. At least, Olly knows, that's what he's trying to do. He's trying to remember everything, from the way the man's sweater fits his body to the way he fixes his glasses.

Olly takes a step forward, cautious, as though breaking the silence might hurt either one of them. He lets out a sigh, holding out his hand.

"Hi," he breathes, and his voice is soft with an underlying timidity. "I'm Olly."

"Emre," the man–his soulmate–replies, and takes his hand to shake. There's an air of awkwardness surrounding them, and Olly thinks that it's only natural. Is it really? Well, to him, it is.

The two of them are stuck staring at one another again, and it's silent until Emre takes out a green pen and writes something down his arm. Olly flinches a bit and looks at his own arm.

_are we ever going to go inside?_ , the writing reads, and Olly looks up at Emre. "It's cold," Emre mutters, smiling a bit.

Olly reaches into his pocket for a pen and stops halfway, retracting his hand. "Yeah, let's," he says, and opens the door to the café.

He can't believe he'd not been excited for this moment. If he'd have told anyone he didn't anticipate the moment much, they wouldn't guess now. He was smiling from ear to ear and he had never been happier that he had a habit of writing on his skin.


End file.
